


Freddie Loves

by JavertJumped



Category: Chess - Rice/Ulvaeus/Andersson, chess in concert
Genre: F/M, Featuring, M/M, My first fic, Not Beta Read, Other, anatoly's eyebrows, and, florence's sass, fluffy and domestic, freddie being freddie, poly all the way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 04:49:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16010615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JavertJumped/pseuds/JavertJumped
Summary: Freddie is crap at love. Luckily he knows two wonderful people willing to help him out.





	Freddie Loves

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have a beta so if you see any egregious errors, please let me know. Also any and all Russian has been badly google translated.  
> So enjoy...?

Freddie knew that in life you were good at some things and crap at others. He knew that personally, he was good at chess. Talking about chess, playing chess, going to chess tournament - and sometimes even winning them. He was also good at karaoke, which usually came after a day’s worth of talking about chess, playing chess, and going to chess tournaments. He was moderately good at public speaking, and _profoundly_ good at saying shit he really shouldn’t, to precisely all the wrong people.

The one thing Freddie knew he definitely wasn’t good at – was being in love.

He didn’t even know people _could_ be bad at being in love, but somehow he managed it with gusto.

He always forgot dates, people’s birthdays, anniversaries. He forget to buy presents, or he'd buy the wrong type of presents. Even when he tried to do something special or romantic it always came off as sarcastic, or insincere; which was part of the reason he was so good at offending people, even when he didn’t mean to. Especially when he didn’t mean to.

So Freddie wasn’t overly romantic, he didn’t do grand expressions of affection, not well anyway; he just wasn’t built that way. In short – Freddie Trumper was totally rubbish at being in love.

And maybe that wouldn’t have been such of a problem if Anatoly wasn’t so fucking good at it.

Anatoly was the kind of person who would look at you like you eclipsed his entire world. He always knew what to say and how to say it, or when it was the right time to just draw you into a hug and simply say, “I love you”.

Anatoly was the kind of person who remembered the little details, what books you’d been reading, your favourite movies, how you take your coffee. He was one of those people who would leave post-it notes around the house, like some affable spectre, or text you inspiring poetry, or stupid jokes right when you needed them most.

Anatoly was just so ridiculously good at the whole relationship thing. It was actually starting to make Freddie feel bad, not only about himself, but also for Florence.

Sometimes he thought maybe if he just left, things would be better off without him. What did he really bring to the relationship anyway? A smart mouth and a bad attitude.

 _Fuck_.

Some days he genuinely thought about leaving…

And then there were days like today.

***

  
Freddie awoke, not to any particular noise per say, but rather a subtle shifting movement on the bed. His front and back were deliciously warm, there were hands in his hair, and someone was singing softly.

He wasn’t a fan of early Sunday mornings as a general rule but in quiet, warm moments like this, fingers still carding gently through his hair, he felt he could make an exception.

Instead of opening his eyes, he pulled one warm body closer to his chest, and snuggled back against the other one. The singing stopped and someone chuckled.

“Good morning, дорогой”.

Ah, so this is Anatoly, he thought, snuggling closer to the man in his arms, which means that this is Florence. He reached back and pulled her arm tighter around his middle.

“Clingy this morning, aren’t we?” said someone, probably Florence since it was mumbled into the back of his neck.

Freddie grunted, still stubbornly refusing to open his eyes.

“And a wonderful conversationalist as always,” added Anatoly, who sounded like his was smiling. Bastard.

“Bloody morning people,” Freddie mumbled into Anatoly’s chest, “I liked it better when you were both singing”.

And that was the truth; he did. Anatoly and Florence sang quite a lot actually, both together and separately. They sung doing the dishes, laundry, walking through the park, when they were happy, sad, either, whatever. They both sang like they were made of music, like the music was constantly waiting to just burst out into the world. Freddie thought this was a beautiful way to live your life. It was one of the things Freddie loved about them but could never say out loud. He wasn’t built that way.

“Really?” asked Anatoly, suddenly sounding a lot closer.

Freddie finally opened his eyes, taking in dark eyes that were amused and warm.

Morning breath be damned, Freddie captured Anatoly’s mouth in a proper good morning greeting that took his breath away. Freddie melted into the kiss. I love you.

“Oi.” A finger poking him in the shoulder caused him to smile and break the kiss. Freddie rolled over to face the owner of said finger.

“Yes?” He asked, in his best I’m-totally-innocent-what-are-you-talking-about voice. “Did you want something?”

In response, Florence pulled him into a bruising kiss, the best kind. The kind that caused his brain go all melty and his toes curl. I love you too. Freddie grinned at her, and then laughed when she reached around him to pat Anatoly affectionately on the head, apparently too lazy to sit up and kiss him properly. Anatoly didn’t seem to mind, capturing the offending hand and kissing it before adding it to the tangle of limbs in the middle.

They basked in the moment for a few more minutes before Anatoly, like he couldn’t help himself, said, “We should really be getting up.” A bold proclamation for a Sunday morning; it got a murmur of agreement from Florence and a muffled something that sounded suspiciously like “nooooooo” from Freddie.

It was nine o’clock when they finally rolled out of bed.

(“Finally? What do you mean finally, the sun’s still coming up.”

“It’s so late; you don’t want to sleep your day away, do you?”

Florence smiled but said nothing, the traitor.

“Morning people. I’m surrounded by fucking morning people”.)

 ***

They showered separately (or they’d never get anything done, like leave the apartment, or feed the cat, oh god somebody please think of the cat!), with Florence going first, then Anatoly, and then Freddie.

Freddie emerged from the bedroom to find Florence in the kitchen sorting food from the fridge into Tupperware containers. Lasagne, quiche, some salad, cakes, pie… how did he not notice they had pie?

“What’s all this then?” Freddie took a seat at the kitchen counter, surveying the bountiful feast Florence was randomly amassing.

“Lunch for breakfast,” Anatoly announced, bouncing into the kitchen, dragged a large picnic basket and badly folded blanket behind him. “What do you call it um … brunch?” He tried to clarify while attempting to refold the picnic blanket into something more manageable and failing miserably.

“And we’re not having breakfast for breakfast because…?”

“We’re out of eggs,” said Florence over her shoulder, like it actually answered his question. And maybe it did, Freddie didn’t know; he didn’t function well in the morning, not before being sufficiently caffeinated anyway. A sentiment Freddie must have expressed out loud because he found himself blinking down at a steaming hot cup of coffee, with just enough milk in it to barely tell it had milk in it, and no sugar. At least he hoped he’d said out loud, otherwise Florence had suddenly developed mind reading powers, in which case they were all thoroughly doomed.

Florence caught him staring at her and smiled, bundling some more boxes into the picnic basket. Freddie smiled briefly and sipped his coffee. Florence was good at this being in love thing too. Relationships were hard at the best of times, but loving two people at the same time well…that was sometime else entirely.

But Florence never acted like it was a hardship. Hell, she made it look bloody easy. Buying two sets of anniversary cards, walking between them in the street, arms linked with both of them (their usual arrangement as Freddie still couldn’t bring himself to hold Anatoly’s hand in public). When she drove them all into work each morning, she’d kiss them both goodbye, one after the other, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Sometimes she acted like a buffer between them, other times a conduit, but she always made sure that everyone was included and nobody felt left out. She loved them both equally and showed it equally, effortless, like she wasn’t even trying, like it wasn’t even hard.

“Where are we going?” Freddie asked, realising that his mind had wandered and they were about a block away from their flat.

“You’ll see,” said Florence, making conspiratorial eyebrows at him.

“It’s a surprise,” added Anatoly, making normal eyebrows at him (which, to be fair, were big enough to be full of all sorts of nefarious secrets).

They ended up in one of the city’s quieter parks and settled down on a hill, overlooking the lake. They ate their breakfast of homemade lasagne, pies and cakes, and generally lazed about, making the most of the glorious autumn sun.

Leftover safely cleared away, Florence pulled out a book and rested her head on Anatoly’s thigh, while he stared up at the slow moving clouds. Freddie dozed in Florence’s lap.

Eventually, Florence shut her book and joined Anatoly in taking in the scene. The sky was just cloudy enough to take the edge off the sun, and a nice cooling breeze billowed gently over them from the waterfront.

Freddie, freshly awoken from his nap, was blinking up at his partners (who were both looking very upside down at that moment), Florence now sitting up and leaning against Anatoly’s chest. He traced their profile with his eyes, the wind tousling long dark hair and short dark curls alike, their figures backlit by the golden shining sun. They were breathtaking.

“What?” Florence asked warmly, catching him staring.

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head and sitting up.

Anatoly smiled at him over Florence’s shoulder and Freddie felt himself smile in return.

The day had been so…easy, and this was a word he’d never though he’d associate with either of them, let alone together. In the beginning, their professional relationships had been strained at best, and “disturbing the peace” at worst. Even after they entered into an actual relationship, their arguments had followed them, remaining as explosive as ever.

Now Freddie felt like he was about to explode for an entirely different reason - he was happy. Of course he knew what happiness was, he’d experienced it before, but never this intensely, and never for this long. For the first time in Freddie’s life he was completely and unequivocally happy.

And he didn’t know how to deal with it.

So he dealt with it the same way he dealt with other things he didn’t know how to deal with: by not dealing with it.

 ***

Back in the flat, Florence loaded the now empty Tupperware into the dishwasher while Anatoly stored the leftovers in the fridge.

Freddie leaned against the counter and just watched the two beautiful people who, god only knows why, decided to include him in their lives. As he watched them work he felt himself say, “I kind of hate you guys”.

“What?” Florence asked, looking up from the dishwasher in alarm.

“Why?” Anatoly added, peaking around the open fridge door.

“Because you’re both just so good at-” He waved his hands uselessly in front of him, “this!”

“Menial housework?” Florence asked slowly, standing up.

Anatoly frowned, still holding open the fridge door, seemly unaware of all the cold air he was letting out.

Freddie growled in frustration and jumped off his stool to pace the kitchen. “No. This! This, this, relationship thing! The picnic, the holding hands in public, the dating stuff…being happy…

You look so good together and you work together like it’s nothing. You’re both so fucking good at love! At loving each other, at loving me.” Freddie swallowed and looked away. “And I’m just so completely crap at it.

Sometimes I feel like you’d be better off without me, and sometimes I know it. I’m bad at remembering dates or being romantic, and my brain is barely connected to my big stupid mouth, but you both love me anyway. You make me want to be a better person, for…both of you… And I feel like I’m letting you both down and it hurts. It hurts because I love you both so much I just can’t fucking stand it!”

Freddie words rang in the stunned silence of the kitchen, as he stood before his partners, flayed open, raw and panting. Dishwasher forgotten and fridge door (finally) closed, Freddie felt himself bundled up in a crushing three way hug. He clung to them, these two extraordinary people holding him, loving him back, and thought that maybe with their help, he could deal.


End file.
